A Bird and his Bottle
by Twisted Fate MK 2
Summary: Qrow looks for all the world's problems long enough, he starts looking for answers. Luckily, the bottom of this bottle seemed to have at least a few of them. Or he was just falling over drunk. Nah, definitely had all the world's answers down there somewhere if he kept drinking.


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Every problem had a solution, without exception.

Not every solution was known, of course, but every problem _had_ a solution. You just had to spend some time looking for it, and come now or come later you'd find it. Qrow had, after all, lived a _very_ long time and he knew a bit about how the world functioned as a whole. And he hadn't run up against any real problems that didn't have _some_ solution that could be found to it. Not that he particularly liked _all_ the solutions that had cropped up to all of his problems, as numerous as _those_ were.

His family? A bunch of bandits, killers and thieves to the last man and woman and even some of the children. Raven didn't like 'parasites' as she called them, so most of the kids- if any were allowed to stay at all - were made to be useful. The solution? Ignore them, keep them mostly out of trouble - subjectively, considering - and try to keep them alive in case he could get Raven on side against Salem again… Somehow.

Though it was _Raven_ he was talking about, and she'd literally given up her kid rather than change anything about herself or the Tribe, so… Qrow would take his chances wooing Salem herself instead of banking on _those_ winds to change any time soon. It was certainly a damn sight more likely.

And really, Raven wasn't his problem now.

And then, of course, there was bloody Salem. Or _preferably_ bloody Salem, rather, as that part seemed not to stick in spite of Oz and his thousand year long war with the evil bitch. That he _still_ had no idea where she lived or how she created new Grimm, or even how she _controlled_ them, perplexed the hell out of the old Huntsman. How could the old man have fought this damn long, and not made _any_ real headway against the Queen of the Dust damned Grimm? It was kind of ridiculous.

But that also wasn't his problem. Or at least, not his problem to _deal_ with.

But that was the point, really. Everyone ran around trying to solve every problem, and that included the ones that weren't _their_ problems to deal with. And that led to every damn problem known to man, people shoving their noses where they weren't meant to damn well be. And a hell of a lot of them would have the nerve to ask you why you didn't give them a god damn thank you card or something when it was over. Politicians, mercenaries, cops, even some Huntsman that - unlike himself, of course - didn't know to leave shit well enough alone. They were the cause of the world's evils, he knew.

Well, them and the Grimm, of bloody course. But again, not his business to go around trying to find every damn solution to that problem.

"See," he continued, slurring even that word almost to incoherence, "I ain't crazy 'bout all this, am I?" Qrow's eyes narrowed, leaning forward on the bar-counter and pointing a wobbling finger, "Hey, uh, was there always three of you?"

"No." The bartending triplets answered all at once, taking a deep and suffering breath and glancing up at the ceiling like he was looking for something. And all remarkably in time, he needed to ask about how they coordinated that so well. The man set a large bottle on the counter and sighed, "Here, this'll straighten you out. Always does."

"Heh," the Huntsman snorted, holding the brown bottle in his hand and smirking, "S'like I was saying, you three. Everybody tryin' to solve everyone's shit for 'em and we get nowhere. All gotta solve our own problems, and know where I found all my solutions?"

"Where?" The men asked, only _kind of_ sarcastic.

"Every answer mankind needs?" Qrow lifted the bottle and gave it a shake, "Fits right inside a bottle. Know what I mean?" The bartenders made a face, and Qrow explained, "Dust goes in vials, and makes all the shit we need. Water, bottled. Seeds? Stored in bottles nowadays, too. Medicine? Bottles again."

He sighed, looking at the bottle in his hands for a long second, "Every damn problem in the world, solved by what fits right in a bot- Hold on, this shit's meant to sober me up! I ain't paid for this crap."

"You ain't _paid_ at all, you drunken dick." The triplets growled, shaking their heads. "Sober up, pay up, and git' up, you fuckin' philosopher."

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 _ **Small one-shot I wrote for a contest on that effed up discord server, figured I'd let peeps see it. Not**_ **that** _**great, but meh, figured you would enjoy it at least marginally.**_


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